I Was Colorblind But Now I See

It was 1985, my Junior year at South High. Every time I walked on the school campus my skin crawled a little. Everyone said it was fine. “Rebel Pride!” was something we all were supposed to embrace. At the time, the student body to me seemed to be 40% white, 35% black and 25% other. I am not sure of the exact statistic. 

I would hear my white friends complain about how we couldn’t fly the General Lee/Confederate Flag anymore at football games. Political Correctness was robbing us of our heritage. I was at a total loss of what that meant. The North won the war. The South lost, why would anyone want to fly a flag as if something was a victory. I felt embarrassed for my black friends wondering if they were hearing any of it. Wondering why more fights on campus didn’t happen.

The mascots of our school were Jody and Johnny Rebel. Yup… That’s right. Jody wore the complete baby blue taffeta ballgown WITH, hoops. Johnny bedecked in the Rebel blue and a hat on top. Each football game I would wonder why no one was saying anything. How this could be ok with everyone! How it was possible Everyone embraced 

Rebel Pride.

I went along. I wanted to fit in. However, I didn’t grow up here. My early childhood years I listened to stories about my parents marching in Civil Rights marches. How my Mom related to discrimination because of the religious bias she encountered in her state. She was not LDS (Mormon) and in the 1950 thru 1960s that was a huge issue. No dates. Exclusions from social gatherings or babysitting jobs. Her empathetic stories would go on and on. I was raised to never exclude people because of their differences. I was raised to be Colorblind. If I didn’t see color, if I only saw people, there would be no racism.

Poof… it would be gone.  

No need for Affirmative Action. No need for Wage Equality. No need to change history. If we would treat people like people and not a color or a disability, the Parentals told me, the problem would be solved.

I believed them right up until the end of my Junior year. 

People told me I was moderately popular in high school. I heard a rumor that I was liked. It would be my Senior year so why not?

Why not run in an election to be part of the school mascot team. I was told I would be a cute Jody Rebel.

So I ran. I made posters. I campaigned. I didn’t go out for cheer leading because it was a potential scheduling conflict. As did a few other girls. One of the girls was black, Georgia. The other girl had the same name as mine, Becky.

It came down to a runoff. 

Becky 

Becky H. (Me)

Georgia.

The morning after the final vote I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to get to school and see who won. When I arrived, I saw the announcement, Georgia won. I was happy for her. Naturally a little disappointed, but Georgia was a huge soul. Everyone loved her. She would make a fantastic Jody Rebel. She definitely would be better at it than me.

I moved on with my day.

As the classes transitioned, I began to hear a murmur. Towards the end of the day it finally was reported to me through some acquaintances. They agreed with the rumor. They were mad at me too. What I had done was completely unjust. It was offensive. I should have known better.

I should have known that Becky C. was more popular than me.

I should have done the honorable thing and dropped out of the race.

I confused everyone because the underclassmen couldn’t tell the difference between us.

I had split the vote and allowed a black girl to win Jody Rebel.

Didn’t I know? Jody Rebel was supposed to be WHITE? I completely ruined our classes Senior year. How selfish I was. Blablabla.

Suddenly, I was no longer colorblind. I now understand what looked at me that day in the face was systemic racism. Many friendships silently ended for me that day. I was ok that they were mad at me. I was ok that their opinion was I somehow was an awful person for a day.

I felt proud. I, unknowingly, did my part. Yes! this school was racist. Yes! our mascot was racist. The whole premise of our high school celebrated oppression. Somehow, unwittingly I defied it. I made room for a change. I never apologized for staying in the race. I still don’t. I wanted to be Jody Rebel. Georgia won fair and square in that runoff.

More importantly,  

It was time we had Georgia as our Jody Rebel.

Sin and Spam

Sin.

I keep hearing that word.

Sin.

And I wonder if it means what we think it means.

Sin-short coming, falling short, mistake, missing the mark, rebelling against God, pride, selfishness, total depravity. All words cultural christianity uses as synonyms for that word.

I hear a faint chorus singing in the tune of the Monty Python Spam Sketch:

“We have Jesus, grace, forgiveness and sin, 

We have Forgiveness, sin grace and sin.

We have sin, sin, sin, Jesus and sin.

We have grace, sin, sin, sin, sin and sin.

We have sin, sin, sin, sin, sin, sin, Jesus and grace.

AND we have sin, sin, sin, sin and sin.”

Studying Romans this year in Bible Study, I read it in the notes and hear it in the lecture, yet when reading the text from Romans 2 thru Romans 7 I hear Paul saying something else.

After the infamous first chapter that everyone quotes ends with this verse:

“They know well enough God's righteous decree that people who do such things deserve to die; yet not only do they keep doing them, but they applaud others who do the same.” Romans 1:32

Then Paul turns around in Romans 2 to kick the reader’s keister.

“Therefore you have no excuse, whoever you are, passing judgment; for when you judge someone else, you are passing judgment against yourself; since you who are judging do the same things he does.”

The rest of those five chapters talks about our freedom in Christ. How we now practice the law because of grace NOT because of a need to fulfill it. In Chapter 7 he makes the whole thing personal in verse 7:

:

“…the function of the (law) was that without it, I would not have known what sin is. For example, I would not have become conscious of what greed is if the (law) had not said, ‘Thou shalt not covet.’”

We are all guilty of that. Pride triggers jealousy over what someone else has. Our contentment challenged births jealousy which expresses itself in envy. Envy feeds greed and around the merry-go-round we go. Not one of us can say we are free from it. Even Paul confesses in Romans 7:15

“I don't understand my own behavior - I don't do what I want to do; instead, I do the very thing I hate!”

Growing up I was always told, “Hate the sin but love the sinner.” It applied to everyone who was not a Christian. My soul felt a little sick every time I heard it. In high school a Mormon friend and I debated the concept: this friend who I loved, but it was approved to hate her religion because it was sin. I walked away from that encounter never able to say it again. What is sin in my life may not be sin in someone else’s.

I am called to love my neighbor as I love myself.

For people to know I am a follower of Christ because of how I love others.

To get the log out of my own eye before I try to take a speck out of my neighbor’s.

So while the interwebs are throwing around the Sin ball, I will be over here working on my own shortcomings. Struggling to let go of my own resentments and learning to love others. 

All while singing the Spam song.

Quitting

Originally posted on December 9, 2010

I am always the last one to leave. A party, a theme park, church. An argument isn't over unless true harmony exists for all involved, much to The Counting Mutant’s irritation. A decision is weighted upon all collectible options. In all situations, affirming and confrontational, I do not quit.

Some consider this diligence a personality flaw. 

My soul screams this mantra to my head: to quit in the face difficulty, cheapens the experience of life. 

When in conflict with person or situation; first comes the talking. There is an echo inside my head, so the only way to hear myself think is out loud. Unfortunately that means someone has to listen until a piece of solution reveals itself. Only when I have exhausted all avenues of resolution will I resign.

“Just as iron sharpens iron, a person sharpens the character of his friend” Proverbs 27:17

What people don’t recall when they throw around this cliché is:

You can’t have sharp iron without sparks.

Within interaction there will be controversy. To end a relationship or an experience because of difficulty, compromises the value of the life we have been given. To work through these differences creates a better life story.

The Counting Mutant took part in a business philosophy course. Close to the end, he was invited to continue in an advanced level. He said yes. At the end of the course, life happened which complicated his ability to continue. During the final conference the offer to continue was extended. This time he declined.  The instructor of the course spoke to the many that changed their answer. He challenged them to examine their behavior.  Was this a common practice in business or their personal life where an agreement was made and then broken?  The instructor introduced the word reneging: to break a promise or go back on an agreement. The consequences of reneging of reneging are; people become leery of  your word and question the reliability of it.

The shame of quitting evaporated. My real issue was about reneging. Whenever a commitment needs to be made, I am thoughtful and count the cost. I never want to jeopardize a person’s trust or faith in me. Through disagreements we learn about each other.  This is why the idea of quitting is unreasonable to me. Listening to another’s grievances I gain strength and wisdom. There is a certain power in admitting my weaknesses and face the conflict. It grants me an opportunity for a Reality Check. My focus turns to crafting those flaws into strengths.  Life is the greatest adventure. Being available for resolution makes my life story richer.

I Don't Miss It

I miss you.

Sometimes those words give my heart a warm pitter patter of fluffy bunny memories. Laughter until my sides ached and ice cream sundaes. Dance parties, horse back riding and secrets spoken in the dark. A place of safety, innocence and mutuality.

Other times...

My heart freezes, bracing for the next blow. Trapped in the torture of a toxic relationship these words are bait. Scars flame in memory of pain and rejection. Words spoken in the past bounce around my head - judgement, blame flavored with bitterness.

It took a long time for me to learn what my part in a toxic relationship was. Boundaries I overstepped. Vulcan logic heard as insult and judgement. Once I understood, I reached out to make amends and make a behavior change. I listened more intently so as to not make the same mistake again.

Only to step into a new minefield labyrinth of mistakes. Like a starfish, a limb would be lost, but I would grow it back again: all in hopes that at the end of the day the relationship would be filled with love, grace and equality.

Then I woke up. I made of an ass of myself. I assumed the person wanted me in their life. My presence was more than just geography and convenience for them. I believed the other person honestly liked me and valued the journey we walking together. The reality; my existence in their life was by default not desire. 

In order to thrive a paradigm needed a shift. I disciplined myself to reciprocate. If someone had a need, I could happily serve. As I watched satisfaction color their soul I felt joy. I needed nothing else. Some of my relationships now are one sided. Others are mutually beneficial. I have found fulfillment in both. The difference is, my worth as a person does not stem from the success or failure of these affiliations.

On occasions, my path crosses those past acquaintances which proved to be most painful. Three little words spoken and I freeze the urge to vomit. I wonder what is missed about me. Who would miss a bull after he left a china shop? Would anyone regret removing the pebble in a shoe? I cannot respond because of the word constipation in my brain. Those three words are irrational.

Then I saw this quote and understood. It put the word "miss" into a different context. I miss the smell of summer thunderstorms of my childhood. The romantic idea of becoming a famous singer/actor. It isn't the person, it is the idea. The presence. The fragrance. The romantic idea. 

That is logical. It hurts to visit that ideal, because it was so wrong. Contentment is within the reality of today. A peace of mind built on trust. Teaching myself not to jump to conclusions, but allow a camaraderie to grow organically watered with mutuality. Value for value. I weigh my words before they are spoken. Then ask myself: am I listening as much as talking? Love ebbs and flows. People weave in and out of life on their own paths. Finding the joy in the moment with them is what matters.

Burr In My Saddle

BoyA graduates highschool on Thursday. This beautiful boy still dances and loves the art form. He has gained strength through out of town intensives, a fantastic girlfriend and Ryan Gosling. Fashion is still a passion. One prom he insisted Girlfriend match her dress to his awesome tie. The male dancers at the studio has blossomed to more than 10 including The Counting Mutant.

The burr still digs, but daily fighting against ignorance have made BoyA and BoyZ resilliant and respectful of everyone.  

Originally posted on Monday, November 29, 2010

A burr.  Digging and twisting for a long while.  It became unbearable on Halloween. Nerdy Apple Bottom, posted about her 5 year old son who wanted to dress as Daphne from Scooby Doo.  She met with ridicule from other mommies.  Their concern was her son's sexuality

The Counting Mutant read it.  BoyA and BoyZ read it.  

I was not alone, another Mommy battled for her son's right. It had nothing to do with who he would fall in love with as an adult.  

My boys dance. Ballet, Jazz, Modern, Tap and Hip Hop. AND THEY LIKE GIRLS!

I have battled those Moms in the market line.  Counting Mutant watched eyebrows rise with a flourish of testosterone from other men as he talks about what sport the boys are in.

That burr.  It gnaws at the flesh of my heart.  BoyA in his freshman year of high school, he stoically endured brutal bullying all year.  Once going so far as to offer a transsexual prostitute for him to figure out what he liked.

I only heard a fraction of it.  

Thanksgiving holiday, BoyA in his Sophomore year and BoyZ in his Freshman year, we caught up on Glee.  After watching, we talked and slivers of truth appeared.

I asked BoyA, "To this day, with BoyZ on campus and everything cool now, do you still feel that dread of being bullied?"

BoyA, always fashion forward, pondered and said, "Yes. I don't think it will ever go away."

"I changed the way I dressed. This is one of the main reasons I am not teased anymore.  I blend in now."  He paused, "If I thought I could, I would take the fashion class at school.  I just want to learn all about it.  It would be the end of me though.  I would never live it down."  His eyes dropped.

The burr sinks its spines deeper and my blood begins to flow.  

I see a shimmer in his eye, "Do you know how many girls I would get to know?!"  I watch as he calculated dating opportunities. "Oh well, maybe in college."

I groan.

As parents, we are supposed to give our kids roots and wings.  To encourage their sense of self while empowering them to become what they were created to be.  Exploring interests and developing talents to their fullest.

How it is in a world of civil liberties, opportunity and equality, boys and men are judged so harshly and condemned to a stereotype?  A girl can be a tom-boy, climb trees, shoot deer, play baseball, wear pants, hate dresses, shun pink and never once is her sexuality brought into question.  No one wonders if her gender identity is confused.  No one wonders about her sexuality. She is an active girl!  She has great potential.  She can do anything. 

Boys on the other hand, if they dance, like fashion, wear pink, are not interested in sports, are gentle and non-confrontational, they are labeled as gay.

Interrogations start: Maybe the parents aren't infusing them with enough testosterone, like we should have an IV on hand and give them a dose of it in their sleep.  

Boys can't dance.  

Boys can't design fashion. 

Boys have to be tough.  

Boys have to confront.  

Boys have to challenge each other to the pain in order to prove their manhood. 

It makes me sick.  I hate the double standard. That stupid burr. All I can do but be a safe place for them to come home to.